


Proper Send-off

by razielim



Series: Merry Smutmas 2017 [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Double Penetration, Fisting, Gang Rape, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Praise Kink, Spitroasting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-11 18:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12941559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/razielim/pseuds/razielim
Summary: Merry Smutmas, popculture-obsessed!Shiro had heard whispers of a send-off. He figured it would be some sort of low-key bash in someone’s dormitory, a lot of alcohol snuck in past the instructors that would leave him hungover during flight check. But lights-out came and went, and Shiro, not one to lose sleep over nerves or disappointment, got ready for bed and fell asleep.





	Proper Send-off

Shiro had heard whispers of a send-off. He’d figured it would be some sort of low-key bash in someone’s dormitory, with a lot of alcohol snuck in past the instructors that would leave him hungover during flight check.

But lights-out came and went, no one had said anything to him, and Shiro, not one to lose sleep over nerves or disappointment, was getting ready for bed.

He thought he heard some shuffling and whispering outside the room of his dorm and stopped in the middle of pulling on a clean tee, but the sound passed, and he figured it was just some of the younger cadets sneaking out of the garrison.

He looked around at his stripped bare room. All the little personal touches that had made the room feel like home had been packed neatly away to be put into storage while he was on his mission so that the room could be used to house another student. It looked like the night before a move, except that it was the night before his life would change forever.

Outer space. The outer reaches of the solar system.

He could still hardly believe his life had culminated in this moment. His ribs seemed to want to swell right out of his chest with pure elation.

But there was nothing more to be done tonight. He’d packed and prepped and trained and studied and reviewed and now the last thing he had left to do before the mission was get a full night of sleep.

He climbed into bed and curled up in the sheets, reaching over to turn off the light that hung on his headboard.

Then he closed his eyes, and thought happy thoughts. Outer space, and Keith, and Kerberos, and piloting, and —

Within minutes, Shiro fell deep asleep.

✘✘✘✘✘✘✘

Shiro woke up gagging and disoriented, his nose full of the heavy sweat of musk and sweat. He tried to move his mouth, parched, sore, but found it full of — something. Something hot and large and twitching and rippling with veiny texture. He gagged again but didn’t throw up.

He couldn’t — he couldn’t do… something.

“Give him another injection. He’s still gagging,” said a familiar, authoritative voice from above, and Shiro held still, realizing that someone was taking care of him. What had happened? Did he get sick in the middle of the night?

A prickle on his bare thigh, and Shiro suddenly realized that his body was being rocked, pushed forward over and over, by someone who was…

There was still something very weird.

Shiro tried to make sense of things, tried to move his hands, but found his wrists bound together. The thing in his mouth moved, pushing forward, but Shiro didn’t gag as it slipped just a bit into his throat. On the next thrust, it pushed further, still not gagging him, but Shiro was already trying to pull off.

“Now make sure you don’t bite, Takashi. You’ll end up regretting that forever.” That same authoritative voice, but now Shiro was less sure that he should find it comforting.

And then, something hot landed in a splatter on his back, and Shiro could no longer ignore the strange sensations he’s been unable to decipher from between his legs.

“Nnn… sorry, Commander. Oh, God, I’m sorry.” A young man’s voice.

“Stop apologizing and move aside for someone else,” said the man above him, and Shiro finally recognized the voice of Commander Iverson.

And the thing that had landed on his back was come. And the feelings he’d been unable to believe earlier was someone rubbing their dick against the crack of his ass, pushing Shiro’s cheeks together, balls slapping his taint. And the thing in his mouth, judging by the location of Iverson’s voice was Iverson’s…

And the reason everything was so off and disorienting was that he was drugged and blindfolded.

Shiro fell into a panic at realizing all of these things at once. He thrashed, choking but not gagging, his body weak and sluggish, hand on the back of his skull keeping his head in place and hands around his ankles keeping him from pulling away as a new man, a naked man, took up the place between his open thighs. Shiro made to bite down to free himself, but there was sudden, agonizing pressure in the hollow of his cheeks, forcing his jaw to stay open.

"What did I just tell you, Shirogane? Keep your teeth the fuck away from me or you won't be going up to Kerberos all in one piece."

Shiro opened his jaw so far it hurt, the pain of betrayal rocking through his chest with sharp stings to his heart. Commander Iverson. Pulling Shiro so tightly onto him that Shiro couldn’t breathe. In his mind, Shiro was pounding his fists against Iverson’s hips in protest, in revulsion. In real life, he was ineffectually struggling against the zip tie that held his hands, his weight wobbling precariously when he tried to lift his elbows off the mattress.

There was a click, the bright headboard lamp he used to study at night switching on, and pale yellow light shone in faint glows through the left hand side of his vision. Shiro felt the heat of it on his face, revulsed immediately as he realized he was being spotlighted for anyone present.

That was when Shiro registered who exactly was present. Or rather, noticed the noise level in the room that seemed to suggest that quite literally _everyone_ might be present. There were people kneeling, cramped, on the bed all around him. There were hushed voices and wet noises coming from behind Iverson, from behind Shiro, from near the desk, even echoing in the bathroom. His room was full of people. They were chatting, groaning, commenting on Shiro’s appearance, lamenting having to wait their turn, and jerking off.

Behind him, whoever had replaced the cadet who had creamed prematurely all over Shiro’s back pushed a finger into Shiro, wet and cold with lube, and Shiro protested, muffled by the dick that Iverson kept thrusting hard enough to suffocate him.

He again tried to pull his legs away, but the restraining hands held fast, so he skewed his hips to the side, twisting them sharply out of the way and off the intrusion.

There was an outcry of dissatisfaction, and his hips were yanked back into place, this time restrained by more firmly gripping hands as something much larger than a finger pressed against him.

Shiro tried to scream but couldn’t.

“Can I push in just like this or…?”

“Sure you can, it’ll be easy once he relaxes a bit.” Iverson yanked Shiro’s hair, making Shiro squirm harder as he tried to ease the painful pull but was stuck in place, restrained by the hand at his nape. “You’ll relax for Mitchells, won’t you, Takashi? It’ll be very, very painful if you don’t. You don’t want to spend the first week of your mission bleeding into your flight suit, do you? Let the man in and it won’t hurt a bit.”

No one but Keith called him Takashi. How dare Iverson —

Shiro’s nose stung with the urge to cry.

He struggled with the order. He wanted — God, he wanted to relax if it meant this would hurt less, but to actually relax meant to let someone in, meant being complacent in the desecration of his own body.

The skin of his rim pulled uncomfortably and he cried out, shuffling forward in panic, not ready or able to relax.

“Hold on, Mitchells. Give him a moment. He’s trying. You’re trying to be a good boy for us, aren’t you, Takashi? Go on. Take a moment.” He pulled Shiro’s mouth off of himself. “Do some breathing exercises like you learned for flight incidents. Relax.”

“Sir, please. Let-”

“You got one shot to relax, Takashi. If you’re not going to make use of it, your mouth will be put to better use.”

Shiro could barely keep from hyperventilating, but he screwed up his eyes and carefully measured the rise and fall of his stomach, measuring out deep breaths and finally, after a couple false starts, relaxing his ass.

He clenched up again as the dick slid in, but apparently, he’d done enough, and it went the rest of the way smoothly as he tried to relax again.

“That’s a good boy, Takashi,” Iverson said warmly, and then propped Shiro’s jaw open once more and pushed inside.

It was… awful. Being used this way. Being made to quietly sit and become nothing more than a plaything for a group of people he’d thought he could trust. People he’d thought were a family. Friends.

There was some pain too, but Shiro focused on his breathing as much as he could and let the pain register only in the very back of his mind, reminding himself that he just had to live through this. He just had to make it to the other side. He just had to —

The cadet behind him finished, thrusting roughly a few more times, making Shiro wince and choke.

Then Mitchells pulled out, and before Shiro could sag with relief, Iverson pulled out too and came in a mess all over Shiro’s face.

Shiro sputtered and spat, disgusted by this way more than he’d felt revolted about someone finishing in his ass, where it was at least, out of sight and out of mind. Or rather, out of taste. He rubbed his chin on his own shoulder as people around him cheered and laughed. Iverson shifted, then moved away, just barely avoiding clocking Shiro in the face with his knee.

Shiro lunged, hoping to make it off the bed, and his sudden movement succeeded in pulling one of his ankles free, but he was caught mid-lunge, with no chance, multiple strong arms gripping his torso from all angles and pulling him back to the bed.

The zip tie around his wrists was cut but he couldn’t overpower the strong grips of those who pulled his hands behind his back, tying them there instead.

He yelled, begging for help, but was quickly gagged.

There was a pause as he and everyone around him panted in exertion, and then someone swung a leg over his thigh, pulled his ass cheeks apart and pushed his dick in. It slid in easier than the first, even with Shiro clenching, wanting it to stop, wanting all of this to stop, struggling against the zip tie and all the hands holding him in place.

But whoever was fucking him started up a brutal pace that left him breathless and breaking, and no one came to stop it.

All around him were the sounds of men rubbing themselves off.

Then, watching wasn’t enough for them anymore. One brave soul reached out to fondle Shiro and suddenly all of them were petting or stroking him. After a couple minutes of this attention, the last levy broke, and all restraint evaporated. Men were rubbing their dicks across every inch of his skin, laughing when he squirmed and jerked away.

As each man in his ass finished, he was quickly replaced by the next. Some lasted a while, some none at all, some went rough, some seemed cautious, and some were clapped on the back and congratulated for losing their V Card.

Some were small, and some were so large that even after heavy use, Shiro still yelled in pain at the stretch.

It seemed to go on forever, inhibitions breaking down further until his classmates and instructors were spitting on him and slapping him, calling him a whore.

He lost track of how many men had fucked him after about 17, not remembering if he’d counted 17 already or not, and then realizing he didn’t care. It didn’t matter either way.

The only thing that broke the fucking out of a monotonous slough of misery was when his tormentors decided that he wasn’t being stretched enough and started taking him two at a time.

The first three times times were incredibly difficult and painful, even with reasonably sized cocks going pretty slow, and Shiro found himself sobbing with abandon into the sheets. The couple times after that were awfully unpleasant, and then it wasn’t all that difficult anymore, and Shiro stopped counting this torture too, just accepting that his body was going to be used and used until it was useless.

At some point, someone clapped him on the shoulder and congratulated him for taking a whole fist, but Shiro couldn’t even remember it happening.

He didn’t know when all of it finally stopped, just that it had.

They dumped him where they’d fucked him, the crowd all yawning and filing out. Iverson said he’d send someone to wake him and help him clean up when the time came.

And then he was left alone.

He was sticky all over, on a bed that was so wet that it felt like the sheets were made of plastic rather than cotton, sore and loose and convulsing, even a little bit hard, with his hands still bound behind him and the blind and gag still tied.

✘✘✘✘✘✘✘

The cadet who had come to help him this morning had fist fucked him first, undoing Shiro’s gag and refusing to stop until Shiro agreed that he loved being used.

Shiro sat groggy in his seat, still feeling like the last of the come hadn’t been scrubbed off and wondering if he could ever get the sensation off with the kind of washing that was available to him aboard the space shuttle. He could still feel those hard knuckles from this morning pounding into him.

He worried about Keith.

When Shiro had told him where the red marks on his wrists and face had come from…

God, he hoped Keith didn’t do anything reckless.

Worse, he hoped Keith wouldn’t ever be subjected to the same horrible treatment. Shiro’s stomach clenched with sick guilt. Here he was, flying across the solar system, and his boyfriend was being left to his own devices in an institution where no one could be trusted.

He’d have stayed. God, he’d wanted to stay. He’d had no energy when he’d finally cleaned up and dressed, no motivation to go on this trip anymore, no matter what it might mean to him or mankind. But Iverson had pulled out threats of court marshalling, talked about video recordings of the incident. Standing there, in the Commander’s office, shaking in his boots up against the wall, Iverson leaning in, Shiro had remembered the ugly, musky scent of Iverson’s pubes. He’d felt like he was again being choked and getting his hair pulled. Shiro hadn’t been able to stand up for himself.

Shiro closed his eyes and hoped Keith would listen to his warnings to watch his back and not do anything reckless. Better yet, that he’d leave the facility altogether. Nothing was worth Keith getting hurt like this.

The countdown started, and with it, a new journey.


End file.
